“We can do anything,” he went on. “Bring us a pig's tail an' we'll make a whistle of it; bring us a ton of iron an' we'll build a steam-engine. I put in the skill an' labor, an' Mr. Barker furnishes the company. Got to have that in every kind o' business.” I made no answer, but sat looking at this wonderful man. “Where ye goin'?” he asked. “Down the river.” “So'm I,” said he. “Give me the stern seat an' I'll furnish the power. If you're goin' to be sorry for me, you'll have enough to do.” I swung her stem to the shore and let them in. He took the paddle, and the dog a place between us. “Handsome little river--this here,” said my new friend, as he cut the ripples with a powerful stroke. “Think o' the strength of her,” he went on presently; “she keeps a-pushin' night an' day. The power of a thousand horses couldn't hold her for a second. If she only had brains she could do half the work o' the county.” After a moment's silence, he added: “If somebody would go into partnership with her and put up brains against her strength, the firm would do wonders.” That view of the river was new to me. “Did you ever see Niagara Falls?” the stranger asked. “No.” “You must go and see that big water-hammer hit the side o' the world. It weighs a million tons or more, an' swings a hundred an' fifty feet, an' for a dozen miles you can hear the boom of it. Think o' the power in that blow. One o' these days it's goin' to help push us along an' kick a lot o' things out of our way. Down below, the rapids run like wild horses. I call 'em God's horses. One o' these days they'll put 'em on the tread.” “On the tread!” I exclaimed. “Yes; every one of 'em 'll tread a turbine an' move a belt, an' then--” He paused and spat over the gunwale, and I looked at him full of wonder. “'Lectricity!” he exclaimed; “streams and rivers o' lightnin'!” His words impressed me deeply, but I did not fully comprehend them until more familiar with his habit of putting his thought into terms of power. But I thought often of the “big water-hammer” and of “God's horses.” “Look at the fish,” he said, after a moment of impressive silence. “One of 'em just looked up an' winked at me real insultin'. I don' know but we'd better get offended an' go after em. “No tackle,” was my answer. “We'll make some,” said he, promptly. “We're goin' to be hungry by-an'-by.” He went ashore, stripped some bark off a willow, split it into strands, and began to braid them. In a few moments he had made a fairly good line, and tied it to the end of a pole. “Will you have a snare or a hook?” he asked. “I can make ary one.” “A snare,” I answered, for I had never seen a snare. He removed a piece of wire from the anchoring, made a loop, and fastened the line upon it. “Now slip that over their noses an' jerk,” he said, as he passed the pole to me. He worked the paddle and I the pole, and soon we had half a dozen fish, and quite enough for a meal.